Dear Wayne
by kakapo1
Summary: A series of letters Cheryl wrote to Wayne from prison which fit into Series 6, from the time when Cheryl is transferred to Christchurch prison to the episode when he tells her about Pascalle.
1. Chapter 1

Dear Wayne

I woke up a while ago. First I didn't know where I was. The silence was so dense that I feared it would smother me. But then, I found the light and turned it on, glad that I could see that I was still alive.

I never thought this place would be so silent, but it is. It is quiet and still, and there is not a sound to be heard, not even a snore or a sigh from the other cells.

You can feel the lost hope in these walls, the opportunities that were wasted, or maybe never arose. There are women in here like me, who once had high hopes for their future. I bet most of them didn't think they would ever end up in jail.

I can't remember when I last wrote a letter. It seems so old-fashioned. It would be so much easier to talk to you on the phone but it's the middle of the night, and I don't think you would be impressed with me if I woke you up. Besides, they lock us in over night so no access to a phone anyway.

There isn't much to do here. I'm not interested in doing any of the so-called activities. I keep my head down and my mouth shut like I should have in Auckland. I don't talk to anyone unless I have to. Most of my time I spend on my bed, studying the walls and the ceiling, thinking about the past and the future.

I think about Pascalle, and how lucky we all are that she survived. The fact that she could have died still makes me sick every time I think about it.

Then there's Van and Jethro, who are never far away from my thoughts, especially Van. I'm secretly hoping that having no news from them is good news, but I'm not sure that this rule applies to any Wests.

I think of Loretta, sure that she can handle the current situation best of all of the lot. I picture Jane, trying to hear her voice, and I'm wondering what new words she would have learnt today.

I miss them all so much, even though when I'm home, I am probably annoyed with them and bossing them around most of the time. (Not Jane, of course, how could I?)

I even miss Ted's filthy jokes, and him calling me sluttypants.

And then, my thoughts wander to you, who I think of the most.

Cheryl


	2. Chapter 2

Dear Wayne

I couldn't go on writing yesterday. The feelings of longing and loneliness that took hold of me were too strong.

Today I looked around for something to distract me from thinking about you. I studied the other women's faces in the yard. Most of them look about my age or younger.

I found myself wondering if they were having the same thoughts as I was. Do they spend their entire day and night thinking and worrying about their kids? Do they wake up in the middle of the night with their hearts aching from longing to be with their husband, lover, partner? If they do, they don't show it. They all look hardened, tired, as if they have given up already.

Then, later today, I saw myself in the mirror. It hit me that I looked exactly like the women in the yard, and I got so angry that I nearly smashed the mirror. I couldn't stand the look of my face. Thankfully, a voice in the back of my head reminded me to keep my head down, and my fists to myself.

Not a hint of emotion in my face. How is it that I look like them, worn and blank, when the loneliness is threatening to suffocate me? The aching in me is so strong, I can't understand why it's not etched into my face.

There isn't a moment when I am not longing to hear your voice and see your face. I would give anything to have you by my side, here, now, as I lie in bed, a feeling of desperation creeping up on me, wondering when I will next see you.


	3. Chapter 3

Dear Wayne

Last night I had a dream. It was a beautiful dream. You were in it.

This morning, I was sitting having breakfast when the woman next to me said.

"Had some good news today?"

I must have had a puzzled look on my face after her comment because she said that I'd had a smile on my face and chuckled to myself when I was having my toast.

I can't even recall it but I must have been thinking about my dream. I'll call it our dream. I blush even now that I'm thinking of it. It was beautiful, exciting. You ask me what happened in our dream? I can't write it down. It would be strange, embarrassing. Maybe I am more of a prude than I'd like to think I am? Anyway, I will hold on to our dream and hopefully draw from it for a long time to come. If you ask nicely I might even tell you about it one day. For now, it is my little secret that makes me smile every time I think about it.


	4. Chapter 4

Dear Wayne

I hate being stuck in this fucking hellhole. The food is crap, the bed is hard and I don't want to socialize with any of the people in here.

A new jailbird arrived yesterday. I don't know what the proper word would be. An inmate? A remandee? A woman on remand? An accused? She's a bitch alright, threatening other inmates and stirring shit around the yard. Don't worry, I haven't even spoken to her, and I'll keep my head down just like you said.

I had high hopes that by now I would be back in Auckland. Surely they can't keep me down here forever? I thought that inmates had the right to be near their families?

Bailey hasn't been in touch at all over the last few days. My initial enthusiasm about her getting me off my guilty plea has vanished. My future depends on her, and I am stuck in limbo until she gets me out, yet I haven't heard from her. There is nothing more important than getting me out of this place but I bet she's got other more interesting things to do than to get me shifted back to Auckland and released altogether.


	5. Chapter 5

Dear Wayne,

I'm going mad, hearing about all the shit that is going on at home and being stuck in here without a single fucking thing I can do about it.

Nicky escaping out of jail and leaving the country? How could he do this to Pascalle after everything she's done for him? I never liked the sleazeball, he was dodgy right from the word go.

And I don't believe a single word when Jethro is telling me the stuff he's flogging off is not stolen. Since when did he ever deal in anything legit? It worries me that Van is involved. If anyone will get his fingers burnt, it will be him while Jethro will walk away smelling of roses.

I get snippets of information from different people, but I only ever get half the picture. I'm sure there is more shit going on, but somehow, I only get a diluted version of events.

Are you being upfront with me, Wayne? I get the feeling that you are keeping things away from me. You are probably trying to do me a favour by sparing me, but believe me, it's not working! It drives me fucking mad that you're not being upfront with me. You are the one person I trust to keep me informed, but I sense that you're not being straightforward with me. How am I supposed to keep tabs on my kids if I don't know what they're up to? You've gotta up your game, Wayne. I depend on you.


	6. Chapter 6

Dear Wayne,

It's been a while since my last letter. The daily phone calls to you have kept me going, and I'm still drawing on the memory of your visit a few days ago. I think about you all day, except when I worry about the kids.

"It's okay," you'd said back in our bedroom, as if your pain and anger had vanished, gone for good. I can't help but wonder if I could have forgiven you like you had forgiven me. When I had realised that it had been a mistake to plead guilty, you were there for me, the next day, as if I had never made you feel abandoned or rejected. It made me realise how much I love all the things about you that make you you: patience, calmness, your ability to forgive – all the things I could not possibly ever have.

I loved it when you'd started kissing me, out of the blue, adamant that you didn't want to talk about it. You had far better things in mind. I can't really blame you – it had been so long since the last time. Rediscovering you was like getting an early Christmas present, but far more exhilarating.

I remember the feeling of your hands on me, the warmth of your touch, the softness of your skin against mine, and my heart starts to ache from the longing inside me. It feels like when I was a child and I was homesick, a pain in my chest so bad that I feared it would take over my entire body until it burst, only this is a hundred times worse.

I want to lean over to you until my lips touch your ear, to tell you that I love you, a whisper so faint no one but you can hear.


	7. Chapter 7

Dear Wayne,

words cannot describe the feelings inside me. Someone has ripped my insides open and left me to die a slow and painful death. A death which will be a relief from the agony I am feeling. I want to scream and shout until someone comes and tells me that it's all a bad dream and that everything will be fine once I get out of this fucking hellhole. But my voice is stuck in my throat, and I am alone.

It can't be true. It can't be true that the man I love has betrayed me with my own daughter while I was far away, unable to do anything to stop him. It can't be true that the man whose baby I carried has not only broken my heart, but also the sacred bond between my child and myself.

What could possibly have happened at home to make you do such a thing while I am stuck in here?

Everything in me is crying out for you, the man who I thought loved me more than anyone before. But you are no longer that man. Your love vanished the day you screwed my daughter.

What have I done to deserve this fucking heartache?

I want to hate you, despise you, but all I feel is a pain that hurts so much it keeps me awake at night, making me sick and unable to eat.

I want to see you one more time so I can look into your eyes and ask why you did it. I want to hear it coming from your lips, not hers, your voice telling me why you did it. Then I might understand why you couldn't give me a second of your life, a second spent to think about what you were going to do and stop while you could.

I am broken, a shell that looks like me from the outside, but I am hollow. I've already lost my baby, my freedom, Jane. Now I've lost everything else. My love, my daughter, my dignity.


End file.
